


this house no longer feels like home

by starboykeith



Series: SHEITH MONTH 2017 [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Depression, Established Relationship, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sex, Introspection, M/M, Sheith Month 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 02:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11773164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starboykeith/pseuds/starboykeith
Summary: Keith returns to the shack alone.





	this house no longer feels like home

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [дом, переставший быть родным](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11858391) by [qjq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qjq/pseuds/qjq)



> for the prompt 'the shack' for day four of sheith month 2017
> 
> cliche title but it inspired this fic: i listened to only this song on repeat while i wrote this so i'd recommend you listen to it too
> 
> title from so cold by ben cocks

It's raining the day Keith leaves the Garrison for the last time.   
  
It's raining as he speeds across the desert on a stolen motorbike, harsh wind whipping his hair and rainwater tearing his face apart, breath coming fast and blood humming for more reasons than the adrenaline.   
  
It's raining as he slams open the door to the shack, hurls the single bag containing all his worldly belongings against the opposite wall, throws himself face-first onto the sofa with enough force he hopes something will break. It makes him angrier when neither he nor the sofa does.   
  
The shack is the same.   
  
The same kitchen where Keith had discovered Shiro can't cook through the horrendous smell of burning and Shiro laughing uproariously as Keith had swatted the ancient screaming smoke detector; the same living room where they had studied together and studied each other; the same bedroom Shiro had pushed Keith into on their last day and kissed him like he needed it to breathe, touched him like Keith's body was his lodestone, made love to him like their moans and gasps and _Shiro, Shiro, Shiro_  was the only song he wanted to hear.   
  
Keith slams the bedroom door behind him, leans against it and gasps for breath, because the thought of Shiro steals all air from his lungs, always has done, always will do.   
  
When sunset finally comes, Keith thinks the first day was the hardest.   
  
He is wrong.   
  
The second day passes as the first had: Keith finds a routine in screaming and sobbing and shattering, choking down dry crackers because _promise me you'll look after yourself, Keith_ , passing out from the oppressive weight crushing him like someone standing on his chest and splintering his ribcage, waking groggy and terrified and alone and throwing things at the wall, a mug, a plate, a picture frame - _no, not the picture frame_  -   
  
Keith falls to his knees among the shattered glass and bleeds his hands picking through it until he finds the photo and clutches it in trembling fingers.   
  
It was Shiro's favourite photo of them. Keith hated having his photo taken, but there wasn't much he could do about being _the most talented pilot of our generation_  and surpassing Shiro's simulation score and people finally seeing him as more than the surly mop of black hair with a bad temper. Shiro's beaming, his arm tight around Keith's waist - waist, not shoulders, and people had talked and Shiro hadn't cared - and Keith's face is as neutral as he could manage, eyebrows furrowed and, Shiro claimed, a tempered gleam of pride in his eyes.   
  
Now, Keith wishes he had smiled.   
  
He leaves the glass on the floor - there can never be too many shattered things in this house, anyway - and reluctantly washes the blood from his hands. He puts plasters on until he looks like a little kid who fell and scraped his knee, and then takes the photo to the bedroom - _the_ bedroom, not theirs, not anymore - with him. He stares at it until his eyes are dry, until his fingers are trembling, until he falls into sleep that doesn't feel like sleep at all, panting through serrated dreams sliced with Shiro's laughter and Keith's own panicked screams and _pilot error, pilot error, pilot error_.   
  
The third day ends the same.   
  
And the fourth.   
  
And the fifth.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment if you enjoyed, and subscribe to my profile or this series if you'd like to read more of my sheith month fics!
> 
> you can find me on twitter at twitter.com/starboysheith, and tumblr at starboykeith.tumblr.com !


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